


Olympic Worthy

by ClaryZloty



Category: Davis and White, Ice Dancing - Fandom, Meryl and Charlie - Fandom, Olympics - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaryZloty/pseuds/ClaryZloty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meryl and Charlie share a perfect practice run through of their Scheherazade piece, about a month before the Sochi Olympics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Worthy

**Author's Note:**

> There's not much to this, it's just a one-shot. There's not nearly enough Meryl and Charlie fanfiction, though, so I thought I'd add some of my own. Mostly just fluff.

Scheherazade plays on the speakers over the rink, a gorgeous piece of music that Meryl and Charlie both have memorized. They glide across the ice together, in time to the music, the ice their frozen, empty stage, they the only players. The sultan and the queen, lost in a dance of story and passion and music and intrigue, a blossoming romance that neither expected to find, weaving a tale as old as the art of skating itself. 

Twizzles, perfectly in tune to the music and perfectly in sync. A twist and a jump and a spin and she is in Charlie’s arms and then he lifts her up and she’s flying, absolutely flying and she’s free, and happiness swells over her as the music washes her in exhilaration. 

Then she descends, swings back onto the ice and glides gracefully away, leaving him to chase after her, and she knows every move, every touch of his hands on her skin as he catches her, because they have done this so many times and know each other so well that when he touches her, it’s like her own hands. He is like an extension of her own body, her other half, an extension that she cannot directly control but that she knows exactly what to do with. She doesn’t even think as she moves, a huge smile on her face as she twists and he catches hold of her and brings her up into another lift and she’s magic again, she’s flying and she can’t feel the cold air or Charlie’s hands on her thighs holding her tightly and she knows that he would die before dropping her or letting her get hurt. 

The music dances as they do, their footwork crisp and sharp, their blades digging deep and cutting hard, their feet never once getting tangled. It’s flawless.  
Meryl can almost imagine the huge crowd in the arena, the roar of the fans, the announcers, the music on new speakers, the magic of Sochi, the Olympic ice under her feet. The swelling emotion of performing the perfect piece, the feel of the heavy gold medal in her hand, Charlie by her side. As she skates toward Charlie, they spin and strike the final pose and the music ends, he looks down at her with an expression full of love and passion and longing. But she can see through the act and see that he is truly excited, and proud, and perhaps still loving: that was the best performance of their life. Definitely gold medal worthy. Definitely Olympics worthy. 

Meryl takes Charlie’s trembling, warm hand and they fling their arms in the air proudly, taking a bow for their performance to the imaginary crowd. Meryl’s heart sinks just a little when she sees the empty bleachers of their old, usual practice rink in Detroit, not the brand new Olympic stage in Sochi that she has dreamt about for four years. No gold medal waiting, just a proud coach. 

Charlie pulls her into a hug anyway, and she can feel him panting and shaking in unison with her, and neither of them needs to say anything to communicate their mutual feelings of pride and excitement, because they both know that that was the best they have ever skated.

They skate towards the boards, still wordless, because there’s nothing to say. No that wasn’t bad but we still need to work on the twizzles, no let’s practice that second lift a few more times, no you were good but I feel like I was a little tight . . . none of that was true for this performance. 

“That was wonderful,” Marina says, pulling Meryl into a tight hug. “Now just do it next month in Sochi, and all will be good.”

“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Charlie says, taking a long drink of water. “Though I don’t know how we can top that, to be honest.”

Meryl looks out across the ice, at all the marks and cuts made in it by their blades, and it’s almost like she can tell from the destruction that there was great beauty performed there. The marks were graceful curves, sharp and clear, the kind of markup that you just didn’t see in practice or warm-ups or training or anything other than a gold performance. She almost didn’t want the Zamboni to go across the ice and erase it, the proof of the poetry they had written with their blades.

It was late, though. Charlie sat down to unlace his skates, and when he was done he left to go change in the locker room. Meryl watched his back as he left, her heart still full of hope. She sat down to untie her own skates as the Zamboni rattled past behind her. Then she thanked Marina again and walked tiredly to the women’s locker room.

She cleaned the ice off her skates and replaced the guards before putting them in her bag. She took off the short skirt she wore and put sweatpants on over her tights, then sneakers, a t-shirt over her camisole, and a hoodie. She put all her things into her bag and gathered it and her coat up and reluctantly left. 

There was a white board in the lobby of the rink, with a countdown to the day they left for Sochi: twenty six days today. Whenever Meryl thought about their upcoming return to the Olympics, her stomach churned with nervousness and excitement. She craved that gold medal more than she wanted anything. She knew that they were good enough, she knew that they deserved it and they could do it, and she would be disappointed with anything less. 

She sits down, her legs tired, and puts on her hat, scarf, gloves and coat while she waits for Charlie. Just a few minutes later, he appears in the lobby, all suited up as well for the January Detroit weather. He puts an arm around her as she stands, and they walk out to the parking lot together in silence.

He drives her home, as he usually does, and drops her off at her house. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says as she steps out into the snow. They haven’t said much to each other since their performance. 

“Don’t be nervous, Meryl,” he says, meeting her eyes urgently. “Just remember tonight, remember how perfect it was.”

“Yeah. It was great,” Meryl says, not sure if he means more than he’s saying.

“Get some sleep. See you tomorrow, bright and early.” He puts the car in drive, which is Meryl’s cue to shut the door and wave goodbye. He waits until she has opened the front door until he drives away.


End file.
